The wind bit cold against his face as Chuka ran.
The ravines of Jos stretched before him — a maze of red earth, thorny shrubs, and jagged stone that caught the first light of dawn. He had no clear direction, only the pull inside his chest, the hum that now guided his every step.
Behind him, the rumble of rotors faded into the distance. Roman's men had scoured the facility and found nothing. He'd disappeared into the folds of the plateau — a ghost among the rocks.
He slowed only when his legs gave out.
The air was thinner here, the sky wide and merciless. From the crest of a ridge, he could see the city far below — Jos, still asleep, unaware of the power that had awakened beneath its soil.
He sank against a boulder, chest heaving, the carved stone the old man had given him still warm in his pocket. When he took it out, it pulsed faintly with golden light, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat.
> Find the heart beneath the Plateau.
The old man's voice echoed again in his mind. But how? Where?
He turned the stone over and saw something new. Thin lines had appeared on its surface — glowing inscriptions forming a map that seemed to shift as he moved it. It showed the ridges around him, the mine tunnels, and deep below them… a symbol. The same sigil that marked the Amour.
He felt the pull again, stronger this time.
"Alright," he muttered. "Show me where to go."
He followed the faint glow through a narrow gorge that led into the base of the hills. The path grew darker, cooler. The hum inside him synchronized with the pulses of light from the stone until they became one continuous rhythm — a heartbeat not his own.
Hours passed before he found the entrance — a narrow cleft hidden by overgrown roots and rocks. A trickle of cool air flowed from it, carrying a smell like wet stone and iron.
Chuka hesitated only for a moment before ducking inside.
The tunnel sloped downward, winding like a spiral. Old carvings lined the walls — Nok patterns, familiar but older, more intricate. He ran his fingers over them, realizing they weren't ornamental. They were instructions. Diagrams showing figures raising relics toward the sky, circles drawn around hearts of fire.
The deeper he went, the warmer the air grew. The glow of the stone in his hand brightened, lighting the path ahead.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber.
He stopped dead.
At the center stood a colossal structure of red stone and gold — a circular dais surrounded by statues of masked figures. At its core, half-buried in the earth, pulsed a massive crystalline heart. It beat slowly, each throb sending waves of golden light across the chamber walls.
He took a step closer, and the hum in his chest answered.
> The Heart of the Plateau.
It wasn't just a name. He could feel it — a living remnant of whatever ancient force had shaped the Amours.
As he approached, the light grew almost blinding. Visions surged again:
He saw his ancestors — the Nok priests — binding the gods of storm and flame into vessels of clay and bronze. He saw them carve their blood sigils into stone, sealing the divine within.
And he saw one man step forward, his hands bleeding, whispering a final command that chained the gods to earth.
That man looked just like him.
The vision shattered.
Chuka staggered backward, gasping.
He looked down — his hands were trembling, his skin glowing faintly gold again. The stone in his palm melted into light, merging into his veins.
> "You are the echo of the first Maker," the voice said within him, calm, solemn. "The blood has found its way home."
He fell to his knees before the crystalline heart. "What do you want from me?"
> "To remember. To unseal what time buried. To restore what your kind forgot."
He shook his head. "No. If you're what they imprisoned—"
> "We are what they feared," the voice replied. "And fear is the first chain."
The chamber trembled. Fragments of rock fell from the ceiling. The light from the Heart dimmed briefly — then flared brighter than before.
Chuka could feel its rhythm syncing with his pulse, faster and faster, until he could barely tell where one ended and the other began.
Then came the sound — deep, thunderous, distant — like something ancient stirring far below.
> "The awakening has begun," the voice whispered.
Chuka's eyes widened. "What awakening?"
> "The others will rise. And with them, the memory of gods."
A shockwave of energy rippled outward, sending dust and light spiraling through the cavern. Chuka shielded his face as a faint, ghostly image appeared before him — the same masked figure he'd seen in his visions, towering, faceless, silent.
> "Maker's blood…" it said, its voice like thunder under water. "…the seal is yours to command."
Then it was gone.
When the air cleared, the Heart had gone dim again. The hum faded into silence.
Chuka stood there, trembling, sweat running down his temples. For a moment, everything was still.
Then, from somewhere above the cavern, he heard the echo of voices — human ones. Roman's men had found the tunnel.
He turned toward the shadows, wiping the dirt from his face, his expression hardening.
The time for running was over.
He touched the faint glow beneath his skin and whispered to himself,
"They want the power of the gods. Let them come see what it costs."
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